Duérmete mí Niño
by Tsunami Storm
Summary: What do you think happened in the year gap near the end of Coco? I might have an idea. Just a cute little one-shot that's been bouncing around in my head for a while. Hope you enjoy! All canon pairings. Rated K.


**Duérmete mí Niño** , a ' **C** **O** **C** **O** ' fanfic by Tsunami Storm

Chapter 1: Lullaby

* * *

- **Santa Cecilia** , 2:00 am, **Noviembre** 1, 2017-

"AAAAH!" Miguel cried out as he sat bolt upright in bed, awakened in the middle of the night by a horrible nightmare. Breathing so hard that he was nearly hyperventilating, the preteen **músico** looked wildly around his room in the Rivera compound to check if anything was amiss. To his relief, nothing seemed to be out of place. His room looked just the way it always had for the past few months. The newest thing in the bedroom was actually a beautiful white guitar decorated with a skull on its head, the very same guitar that his **Papá** Héctor had owned. Apparently, it had been a wedding gift from **Mamá** Imelda when they were just starting out. Miguel wasn't entirely sure, but he thought that Héctor would have _wanted_ his great-great grandson to have his old guitar, and would be happy to let him play it instead of letting it gather dust in the mausoleum of the murderous rat who'd _stolen_ it nearly a hundred years ago.

Miguel smiled over at the famous instrument, his mind all the way over in the Land of the Dead with the deceased members of his family. He imagined his **Mamá** Imelda running the **Zapatería** with a firm fist and no-nonsense attitude, his **Tía** Rosita happily humming to herself as she busied herself in the kitchen, constantly baking and cooking delicious meals that would rival his **abuelita's** own formidable culinary skills. He imagined his twin **tíos** , Óscar and Felipe, bent over a workbench and completely engrossed in their latest shoe-based invention, **Papá** Julio pointing out some minor flaw in their design and offering suggestions to fix it. He imagined **Tía** Victoria- with her stern demeanor- silently crafting **huaraches** at her personal workbench and paying the closest attention to the tiniest of details, making sure every last stitch was perfect for her **Mamá** Imelda- who wouldn't have it any other way.

A single tear escaped from the boy's eye as he thought of his **Mamá** Coco, who had passed away quietly in her sleep a few months ago, at the ripe old age of one hundred years. He would miss her gentle voice when she would tell stories about her early days, and especially about her beloved **papá** , who had been taken from this world when she was barely three years old. He would miss her wizened smile and her loving embrace when he would give her a big hug at the end of a long day. He would even miss dressing up as **luchadores** and letting Coco win their 'wrestling match', when he would jump off her bed and onto a pile of pillows, declaring her the winner every time. He allowed himself a small giggle when he recalled that she would sometimes mistake him for her late husband, who had preceded her in death nearly fifty years ago. But that was before he had awakened her memories from the fog of dementia that came with an age as great as hers. Miguel was proud to say that **Mamá** Coco had been lucid and alert right up until the day she left this world for the next, and had fallen asleep for the final time with the biggest smile on her face that anyone in the Rivera family could ever remember seeing from her.

Miguel smiled again when he remembered that Coco would finally see her family again in the Land of the Dead, but that smile quickly faded when he recalled the uncertain fate of the one family member she'd wanted to reunite with most of all: Her **papá**. That's what his nightmare had been about, why he'd woken up screaming at two o'clock in the morning. **Gracias á** **Dios** that he hadn't accidentally woken any of his other family members. They were all still fast asleep.

Miguel could still recall his nightmare with frightening clarity. He'd dreamt of the 'confrontation' of the great fraud, Ernesto de la CREEP at his final 'Sunrise Spectacular' concert. Of when the thief and murderer had tried to silence him forever by throwing him from the rampart to the cold, unyielding stone of some ancient temple hundreds of feet below the stadium wall. In his dream, Pepita had been just seconds too late to catch him as he fell, and- when he hit the ground, he had turned into golden-orange dust and blown away on the eastern wind as the sun rose directly behind them. Then, backstage on the rampart, his great-great grandfather Héctor Rivera- and also his best friend in the Land of the Dead, if he was honest with himself- faded away into the same golden dust as he was forgotten by the last remaining person in the Land of the Living who still remembered him: His daughter, Coco.

Somehow, he could still see the reactions of his relatives, and time flashed forward to the next **Día de** **Muertos** , where a tearful Enrique and Luisa Rivera placed a very shabby-looking, handmade white guitar under a small picture of their oldest child on the **ofrenda** , Luisa sobbing quietly as she held a baby girl in her arms, who merely looked confused at the sad expressions on her parents' faces. Slightly to the side, a ghostly Imelda Rivera placed a folded article of red clothing just to the right of Miguel's repaired guitar, and with a jolt, 'dream-Miguel' realized that the object was his favorite red hoodie, the one he'd lost in the Land of the Dead. A few tears dripping down her own cheekbones, the matriarch of the Rivera family then placed another item on the very top of the **ofrenda** pyramid, this item eliciting a few tears from the dreamer as well: A straw hat. The very same one that his **Papá** Héctor had been wearing during Miguel's journey through the Land of the Dead. After placing the items on the **ofrenda** , Imelda silently crept back over to her great-grandson and daughter-in-law and embraced them both as much as she was able, wrapping her arms around them as tightly as possible without passing through them.

That's when he'd woken up. Miguel shook his head and laid back down on his pillow, throwing off the sweat-soaked blankets and attempting to fall back asleep. Though, somehow he knew that it was a futile effort. In the past, he'd never been able to fall back asleep after a bad nightmare like this one had been. Sighing heavily after a few restless minutes of turning and tossing to get comfortable, Miguel rose from his bed and crossed the room to where his ancestor's prized instrument sat gleaming in a patch of light from the full moon outside his window. With as much care and gentleness as he could muster, Miguel reverently picked up the antique guitar and rested it on his thigh with practiced ease, quietly plucking a few random notes to check if it was still in tune. To his slightly surprised relief, it was, so the boy returned to his bed and sat cross-legged at the foot of the piece of furniture, resting the belly of the guitar on his legs and smiling faintly at the nostalgia.

He'd never known why, but music had always been the _one_ thing that could calm him down whenever he was upset. Even with the music ban in full swing, he'd hum quietly to himself to relax whenever he was too upset to sleep. Or sometimes during the day when he was overly stressed about something or other. When he was very little, his **bisabuela Mamá** Coco would sneak into his room some nights and sing him a song, to calm him and let him fall asleep again after a night terror. But that was when she was certain that everyone else in the compound was asleep. Now, however, he knew. He knew why music had always soothed him. Because music was in his _blood_. In his very _soul_. Like his one-time hero, Ernesto de la Cruz had said in one of his movies, "I _have_ to sing. I _have_ to play! The music, it's not just _in_ me, it _is_ me!" That was Miguel's philosophy as well. When Life would get him down, he would sing quietly to himself or strum randomly on his guitar after he'd finished putting it together. Until **Abuelita** Elena smashed it to bits, that is.

Miguel shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking about that right now. Bringing up bad memories from the past wouldn't help in the slightest. Especially with trying to fall asleep again. He absently plucked out notes on his guitar, not really paying attention to the chords he was strumming. After a few bars, he found himself humming a familiar tune, though it wasn't like the version he'd heard a million times on the radio. It was the tune his great-great grandfather had originally written. The lullaby for his little girl, Coco. Miguel smiled at the sweet nostalgia, as well as the subtle irony. 'Remember Me' had originally been a lullaby, and that would be perfect for helping him to return to sleep.

"Remember me,

Though I have to say goodbye.

Remember me,

Don't let it make you cry.

For even if I'm far away,

I hold you in my heart.

I sing a secret song to you

Each night we are apart.

Remember me,

Though I have to travel far.

Remember me,

Each time you hear a sad guitar.

Know that I'm with you

The only way that I can be.

Until you're in my arms again-

Remember- me-"

Miguel smiled sadly as the last notes of the famous song lingered in the air, and wondered how he could have ever loved de la Cruz's butchered version. The way _he_ had performed it, it didn't even make _sense_. The guitars weren't sad in his version, but loud and bombastic and in-your-face. And the song _certainly_ wasn't secret, the way it was supposed to be. It was meant to be a personal lullaby. A sweet, gentle tune between a father and his little girl. Miguel growled and clenched his fists. Just for that, Miguel felt like marching right back to the Land of the Dead, taking a page out of his **tatara abuela's** book and making that rat's head spin again from ' **La Chancla** '. He giggled softly to himself when he remembered the priceless look on the thief and murderer's face when faced with the wrath of Imelda Rivera.

Miguel sighed again, thinking of the song's true author and worrying- not for the first time- about his uncertain fate. In his heart, he fervently hoped that he'd been able to reach **Mamá** Coco in time, that Héctor had been able to hold on long enough for him to reawaken his aged daughter's memories of her long-lost **papá**. He wished with all his might- when Coco died- that he'd been able to reunite- finally- with his beloved daughter after almost a century, and give her the biggest hug like he'd wanted to. He prayed that **Mamá** Imelda would forgive him for ever trusting that **rompe hogares** , Ernesto, and welcome him back into the family like he always should have been.

"Actually, that's not a bad idea." Miguel whispered to himself as he padded quietly over to his window, after gently setting his ancestor's guitar on his bed. Resting his elbows on the windowsill, he looked up to the heavens and quickly located the brightest star up there that wasn't eclipsed by the moon's rays. Folding his hands, he sent his dearest wish to the heavens, praying that **Padre Dios** , **hermano** **Jésus** , or **Santa Maria** would hear his plea and somehow grant him a measure of peace, if not grant the wish outright.

"Star light, star bright,

First star I see tonight.

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have the wish I pray this night."

Miguel shut his eyes tightly as he wished with all his might, hoping that someone up there would hear his dearest desire and make it come true. A few minutes of silence passed, and the thirteen-year-old musician sighed heavily and shuffled back to his bed, flopped down on the sheets and gently curled a hand around the neck of his favorite guitar. Dejected, he rolled over so he was facing away from the window, so he didn't see that the brightest star that he'd wished upon twinkled once, almost as if the night sky was winking at him.

Given the lateness of the hour- and the little faith that Miguel put in those old legends of wishing on stars- it should come as no surprise that Miguel nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned back to the window and saw a rake-thin figure standing silently to the side of it, simply watching him with a gentle smile on his face.

" **Buenas noches** _,_ **'** **Chamaco** **'**." Héctor grinned cheerfully, using his old nickname for Miguel to relieve some of the tension in the room. Not to mention the shock.

If it was not attached with muscles and ligaments, Miguel was positive that his jaw would have dropped right off his face at the sight before his eyes. It was impossible. The man before him had been _dead_ for almost a hundred years. Besides that, he'd almost succumbed to the 'Final Death' a year ago when he'd saved Miguel and Coco nearly forgot him. How could he be _here now_? And he wasn't even skeletal like the last time Miguel had seen him. For the first time in ninety-six years, Héctor Rivera was standing in his home in **Santa Cecilia** in a flesh-and-blood body, just like he'd had when he was alive.

However, there were a few minor changes. For one thing, the twenty-one-year-old man was wearing a brand new pair of shoes, and Miguel would have bet a month's allowance that they'd been made for him by the loving hands of his **tatara abuela** , Imelda. His brown pants and suspenders looked about the same, although they'd been repaired masterfully by a skilled tailor or seamstress. Possibly Héctor's friend Ceci. He still wore a red necktie, though that looked quite new as well, but the straw hat on his head looked the same. The thing that had changed the most was his _chaqueta_. While before it had looked like a ragged blue coat that was missing a sleeve and the other was hanging by a few threads, this coat looked more like an indigo vest made of a shiny material that slightly reflected the light of the moon behind him. Underneath, he wore a simple, white cotton shirt that looked impossibly soft and comfortable.

" _Hé-Héctor_?!" Miguel squeaked quietly, then clapped a hand over his mouth when he realized his family was still sleeping.

The man in question grinned wider and winked, showcasing his gold tooth that matched his old guitar as he did so. "Good to see you again, **mí'jo**." He breathed quietly as he shifted slightly over by the window, as if debating whether or not to approach his great-great grandson and hero and give him the biggest hug. And the boy _was_ his hero- or at least his best friend, if he was honest with himself. The boy had saved his life- er, _afterlife_ \- nearly at the cost of his own. If _that_ wasn't what made a hero, then Héctor didn't know what would make one. "And that's _**Papá**_ _Héctor_ to _you_ , kiddo." He teased lightly, putting a hand on his hip.

"How- how are you _here_?!" Miguel breathed as loudly as he could without shouting, still keeping his voice down so as not to wake his family.

Héctor smiled wider, nearly beaming from ear to ear at this point. Then, to Miguel's confusion, his grin abruptly turned just a little sheepish. "Well, technically it _is_ **Día de** **Muertos** today. And technically, I'm only here in spirit- considering how long I've been dead. I dunno why I'm not a skeleton, or why you can see me, but you won't hear me complaining. I've missed you, **mí'jo**."

Miguel felt a few tears prick his eyes as his shocked expression slowly morphed into the biggest smile to ever grace his face. Jumping off his bed, he ran to his great-great grandfather and tackled him around the waist in the biggest hug he could manage, causing the taller man to laugh aloud and return the embrace, but not before giving the boy's hair an affectionate ruffle. Miguel didn't need to say anything. The boy- much like his **tatara abuelo** when he was that age- wore his heart on his sleeve. Héctor could tell without words that his **'** **Chamaco** **'** had missed him too. More than any words could ever express.

"So, do I need to ask why you're _still_ awake five hours before dawn, **mí'jo**?" Héctor raised an eyebrow and smirked at his favorite great-great grandson. Well, he didn't want to be biased, but he hadn't _met_ the other kids yet.

Now it was Miguel's turn to look sheepish. "I just had a bad nightmare. And I've never been able to fall back asleep again afterwards. That's been true ever since I was really little. The only thing that could calm me down was-" Miguel broke off, a few sad tears leaking out of his eyes. "-was a secret song from **Mamá** Coco." Then, inexplicably, he smirked again. "And I think, more often than not, it was 'Remember Me'. I _knew_ there was a reason I'd always liked that song."

Héctor laughed. "Ha! _That's_ my girl! Just as stubborn and resourceful as her **mamá**." He shook his head in mock exasperation, then sobered. "Speaking of Coco, this is from her." And with no more warning than that, the taller man picked up his great-great grandson, nearly crushed him to his chest in a big hug, then twirled around a few times and nearly made Miguel dizzy. Miguel laughed at his best friend's exuberance, then hugged him back when he'd set him down safely on the ground again. " **Gracias** , **Mamá** Coco." He sniffled as he buried his face in Héctor's stomach.

"And this is from the rest of us. You forgot it last year." Héctor chuckled, pulling something out from behind his back that had been tucked under his vest. With a small jump, Miguel recognized his favorite red hoodie, the one he'd left behind in the Land of the Dead when **Papá** Héctor and **Mamá** Imelda had sent him home at nearly the last possible minute.

"I- I thought I'd never see you again." Miguel sniffled as he took the hoodie and buried his face in its familiar softness. Héctor could tell that he was talking to him and not the fabric. "I was _so_ afraid we'd lost you forever. I was _so_ worried I didn't reach **Mamá** Coco in time."

"It _was_ a close call, but you made it, **mí'jo**." Héctor smiled proudly, embracing the boy again in a rush of affection. Miguel would never know _how_ close, though. Héctor would make _sure_ of that. "And you weren't the _only_ one who was scared. According to Felipe, I slept like the dead for _five_ whole _days_ after that." He laughed. "Pardon the pun." Then, abruptly, his expression sobered. "I just wouldn't wake up. No matter what they tried. I guess they had to carry me home, 'cause I woke up in the analog of our old bedroom. _That_ must've been quite a sight." He chuckled ruefully.

"The twins probably carried you, since they're only an inch or two shorter. It would look funny if it were anybody else." Miguel guessed accurately, and Héctor nodded in agreement. That sounded plausible.

After a few minutes, Miguel returned to lay on his bed, and- after a moment of uncertainty and an invitation from the boy- Héctor followed, gently sitting down beside him and pulling the covers over the teen's legs and chest. "You should get some rest, **mí'jo**. You've got a big party to help set up tomorrow. Or, actually, in a few hours." He smiled.

"Okay, **Papá** Héctor." Miguel agreed, suddenly sleepy as he checked the digital clock by his bed. The numbers read 3:12 AM, and the teen rubbed his eyes and yawned so widely that his jaw cracked. Héctor ran a hand through the boy's soft and fluffy hair one last time, reminded strongly of how he used to do the same thing for his little girl before he went on the last tour of his life. Bending down, he brushed the sweetest and gentlest kiss to the boy's forehead, then straightened up and made to walk to the door of Miguel's bedroom. While he had the opportunity, he might as well look in on the rest of his family, even though none of them would be able to see him. Probably.

Just as he reached the doorway, though, a small voice made him turn back around. " **Papá** Héctor? Does- does it sound weird if I say that you're- that you're my best friend?"

That made him gasp. He'd just been thinking the exact same thing a few minutes ago! Smiling softly at the little **ángelito** in the bed that had saved his life- er- _afterlife_ , Héctor breathed, "You're _my_ best friend too, **mí'jo**. I couldn't be more proud of you if you were my own _son_."

An idea suddenly coming to him, the spirit walked back over to his great-great grandson's bed and picked up his old guitar, sitting back on the edge and quietly plucking out the first few notes of a song he'd taught himself how to play recently. It wasn't one he'd written- and it _certainly_ wasn't his lullaby 'Remember Me'- but it would serve the same purpose, and the lyrics would fit more closely in this situation. Breathing in deeply through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, Héctor shook off his sudden **mariposas** since a **grito** would wake everybody up, and smiled softly at his favorite grandson as he began to play and sing.

 **"Duérmete mí** **niño** **,**

 **Duérmete mí** **sol** **,**

 **Duérmete** **cariño** **,**

 **De mí corazón.**

 **Duérmete mí** **niño** **,**

 **Cantu cabecera.**

 **Por velar tu sueño,**

 **Un ángel te espera.**

 **Duérmete mí** **niño** **,**

 **Duérmete mí** **sol** **,**

 **Duérmete** **cariño** **,**

 **De- mí- corazón-"**

As the last notes faded out of hearing range, Héctor noticed with none too little satisfaction that his lullaby had worked. Miguel was fast asleep with a small smile on his face. Brushing a hand through his feathery-soft locks for the third and last time, the ghostly musician set his guitar against the wall with infinite care and silently padded to the door. Sparing one last glance for his beloved descendant and best friend, he departed, his lanky, thin form fading to resemble the one of the skeleton he had become nearly a century prior:

The spirit of Héctor Rivera.

" **Buenas noches** , **mí'jo**."

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The End

D'AWWW!

That's really all that needs to be said. This idea came to me in a dream and I just had to wake up and write it down. And it was about 2:00 in the morning when I did. So I put that in here too. And when I finished typing, it was 3:12 AM. Yes, I'm that much of a fangirl that I dream about ' **C** **O** **C** **O** '. Deal with it. XD

Translations (for those who need them):

 **Santa Cecilia** \- saint Cecilia

 **Noviembre** \- November

 **Músico** \- musician

 **Zapatería** \- shoemaker business

 **Tía** \- aunt

 **Tío(s)** \- uncle(s)

 **Huaraches** \- **Méxican** sandals

 **Papá** \- father/dad

 **Luchadores** \- wrestlers

 **Gracias á** **Díos** \- Thank God

 **Día de (los)** **Muertos** \- Day of the Dead, or the **Méxican** version of 'All Saints Day' Nov. 1.

 **Ofrenda** \- family shrine

 **Bisabuela** \- great-grandmother

 **Abuelita** \- grandmother

 **Tatara abuela** \- great-great-grandmother

 **La Chancla** \- The flip-flop (aka the most dangerous weapon in **México**. XD)

 **Rompe hogares** \- home-wrecker

 **Padre** **Díos** \- Father God

 **Hermano Jésus** \- brother Jesus

 **Santa Maria** \- saint Mary

 **Buenas noches** \- good night

 **Chamaco** \- kid/kiddo

 **Chaqueta** \- jacket

 **Mí'jo** \- shortened version of ' **Mí híjo** ' - my son

 **Tatara abuelo** \- great-great-grandfather

 **Mamá** \- mother

 **Gracias** \- thanks

 **Ángelito** \- little angel

 **Mariposas** \- butterflies

 **Grito** \- yell/shout

And this is how I think ' **Duérmete mí Niño** ' is translated- and yes, I know it doesn't rhyme in English:

"Sleep, my little child,

Sleep, my little sun,

Sleep, my little honey,

Of my heart.

Sleep, my little child,

Rest your little head,

For watching over your dream,

An angel awaits you.

Sleep, my little child,

Sleep, my little sun,

Sleep, my little honey,

Of my heart."

D'awww!

 **¡** **Hasta la vista, mis amigos!**

God Bless!

Tsunami Storm


End file.
